


A New Kind of Empty (Discontinued)

by gminniy



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-13 01:16:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7956451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gminniy/pseuds/gminniy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael Jones has been shit on his entire life. Being tossed around, forgotten, and shoved out on the streets, he becomes a shell of a human. He has never truly known what it's like to be loved, let alone the idea of a helping hand. So how will he react when a stranger in a bar tries to change his story?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Credit to my friend for helping me out by editing.] All characters will be around 20 or 30 just for the sake of no one being underage.

Michael could never catch a break from the havocs of reality.

At age eight, life decided to be a bitch and throw him onto the You’re Fucked train and his first stop was the front steps of St. Christopher’s Orphanage. The woman who took him out of school said that his mother had gotten into a car accident . Something about a nasty drunk who hit her head on. He didn’t quite understand the details but he wasn’t stupid. He knew that his mom was gone. 

He was only eight and he lost his last piece of family. His father abandoned his mother when they found out she was pregnant and his mom’s parents died when he was a baby. With no one left, CPS shoved him into this place alone, scared, and tired. Everyone kept trying to talk to him and ask him questions but he just wanted to sleep and never wake up again.

St. Christopher’s welcomed him with open arms, another kid with no parents and a shitty childhood. They gave him food, a bed (of course, he had to share his room with other boys just as fucked as him), and a roof to sleep under. He told himself that at least he was lucky enough to have that. 

But it wasn’t a normal life. Nothing there was actually his except for the small suitcase CPS allowed him to have, filled with nothing but his clothes (and the photo of his mom he managed to sneak into his coat pocket). There were only a handful of toys that the kids could play with. The caregivers called them ‘educational toys’ and only put them out during certain times of the day (even then, it was first come first serve and Michael could never get his hands on anything). There was a specific ‘toy’ that Michael always had his eyes on, but no kid could ever touch it. ‘It’ being an NES on display  in a glass cabinet for everyone to see, as if they just wanted to make things worse for these kids.

Keeping more dreams just out of reach for them.

He  _ would _ say that they treated him like he was another one of their kids, like he was born there; that he had toys to play with, tons of kids to become friends with, and even his own privacy when he wanted it.

Except that wasn’t how it worked. He was thrown into this huge house full of people, but he still felt alone. It was next to impossible to make friends in a place where kids left every other day -the ones who were lucky enough to be adopted into a new family. Michael wasn’t one to make friends anyways; the other children said he looked too scary to talk to. He heard them talking behind his back and knew what they thought of him-he was “too grumpy” and “always yelled.” Sure, he had a short fuse, but that was because no one would leave him the fuck alone. 

His anger problems became a nuisance to him once he noticed he could use it to his advantage. He ended up scratching one woman in the face after she tried to pull him to his room. That ended his stay at St. Christopher’s and he was passed on to another orphanage halfway across the city. It seemed like he had only been there a few days when he was moved again for punching a boy who tried to take his bunk. 

This became a pattern for Michael as he was moved from home to home like the flu. His records showed that he was “too aggressive” and “didn’t work well with others.” That was fine with him; it just meant he got more alone time in whatever shithole he was in that week. He honestly lost track of how many homes they sent him to, not to mention the names. A lot of Saint Something’s; what was up with that? These people were  _ not _ saints, as far as Michael could tell. 

The constant moving was just another bad chapter in his shitty story. There were always new faces he never became accustomed to and new beds that were always  _ just _ on the side of uncomfortable. The familiarity of  _ living _ somewhere left him long ago and it finally broke him. He became quieter and hid his emotions. Other kids in the homes really began to fear him then- he’d sit at a table by himself for hours, staring at nothing, or just respond to anyone with blank stares- so it was effective in gaining him all the alone time he wanted.

By the age of thirteen, Michael started realizing he could get away with sneaking out at night and just roaming the city. He wasn’t trapped in a house or surrounded by scared looks- it was the first time he felt  _ okay _ . He could get away with so much as a kid wandering the streets and soon he became a pro at pick-pocketing cash and an occasional smoke. It wasn’t until he started setting stuff ablaze in alleyways that he was finally caught- the sight of the flames reaching towards the sky amazed him. His home then shoved him in a room with barred windows and a lock on the outside of the door. The only way he could taste that freedom again was finding some way to get moved to a different home (which was hard considering he was alone in a locked room 24/7). 

His life went on like this for years; sneaking out, stealing stuff, getting in constant fights, setting stuff on fire- that was just how he grew up. Life fucked him in the ass and he was just taking what he was handed, even when he became too old to live in foster homes anymore. There were no organizations willing to help him “find his way as a young adult” due to his records so he was out on the streets- it’s a good thing he was already so accustomed to it. He wandered the city of  New Jersey finding any sort of decrepit building that could offer him shelter from the cold and settling into an abandoned apartment. He never stayed too long in one place though- that’s just how it was- so he had a backpack full of all his things to leave in any situations. 

Living on the streets in New Jersey meant you had to hold your own, especially in fights. Michael proved himself worthy of this by tumbling with any other guy in an ally who judged him. He enjoyed fighting- it let him blow off whatever built up tension he had- but the way he fought was strange. To anyone on the other end of his fists, Michael was just a shell of a human, he never reflected his emotions and had this look in his eyes that no one could explain. He was actually pretty terrifying to spar with and he earned his reputation. No one bothered him because they were too scared so his fights were usually started by him or some new guys who needed to learn who he was.

After a solid two months of fending for himself, getting in fights, and stealing from assholes who wandered too far from the local clubs, Michael became bored. Sitting around abandoned buildings and picking dirt out of his nails with his knife was not an ideal form of entertainment. 

He picked himself up, grabbed his shit, and headed into the city. He walked for hours searching for windows holding “now hiring” signs, only coming up with fast food restaurants. He wasn’t just looking for something to give him money- of course he needed that- he wanted something that could entertain him, a job that he would stick to for a while. He thought that maybe he was desperate enough to try the strip club down the street. “ _ No,”  _ he told himself,  _ “You haven’t hit complete rock bottom yet, Michael.” _

After the sun set and he wasted an hour following some dick to steal his pocketknife (another one to add to his collection), Michael stopped in front of a bar called The Twisted Moustache…...what a stupid fucking name. The neon sign flashed red and reflected against Michael’s freckled skin. He knew he was too young to drink but no one gave a fuck in this city, why should he? He pulled the door open and walked straight to the bar, shoving off his hood and taking a seat as far away from anyone else as possible. The music was subtle and not completely overwhelming like other bars he passed by and he could smell the alcohol in the air. He put his face in his hands, wondering how long he would be able to handle the smell.

Someone cleared their throat, making Michael pop his head up to see a man behind the counter standing in front of him (quiet bastard). The bartender, Michael assumed. He looked the guy up and down, he definitely had a nice figure from what he could see. He was wearing a vest and button up with the sleeves rolled up, exposing his arms that were covered in tattoos. He had a tired look to his face, like he hadn’t slept in two days, and a nice handlebar moustache settled above a lazy smile that was aimed at Michael. He wondered if the ‘stache was just a part of their trademark.

“What can I get you?”

_ Shit.  _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoever could this strange bartender be?????? ;) ;)  
> This is my first fic that I've written by myself and I would love feedback! I'm trying to write two chapters at a time so when I post one of them, I'll already have another one to post while I'm working on the third one...if that makes sense. But this first time I'm too impatient and I really want to go ahead and post the prologue.


	2. Dazed and Confused

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa! This chapter is over 3000 words! This is really really late but I have good reasons, I promise! I got a job! And opened commissions on my IG! Which is really cool!  
> I also kept running into writers blocks and had to take breaks because I didn't want the story to feel rushed and the end product wouldn't be great. I spent days trying to come up with a better ending or where to put a certain part and I ended up doing a lot of research for one part. I'll give some explanations in the end notes so for now...  
> Enjoy!

“What can I get you?”

_ Shit.  _ Michael had zero knowledge on alcohol. His farthest reach was beer- and judging by the smells coming off of the drunks around the street, he wasn’t too interested in it. 

“I’ll have whatever you like.” Michael’s rasping voice surprised the both of them.

He was too focused on the bartender to care, trying to look at anything  _ but _ his bright blue eyes or the smile that was spreading across his face. He stood in front of Michael, drumming his hands against the counter, and then laughed a little before he walked away. 

_ What’s so fucking funny?  _

Michael put his head on the bar, the cool wood against his skin added to the chill he was just getting over. 

It was getting close to the end of the year and the snowy weather was creeping back into New Jersey -not the greatest thing for someone who didn’t have a warm house. He sat up, running his hands through his brown curls, and took in a deep breath. He smelled alcohol in the air and a strong, musky smell that probably came from him. When was the last time he showered?

The bartender returned and placed a small glass filled with what looked like ice and water in front of him. Michael looked at the glass, then at the tattooed man, and turned to his bag. He fishes out what money he can find in the bottom and pushes it into the guy’s hand. He looks down at the crumpled cash, up at Michael, and smiles.

“What’s your name, dude?” 

“What’s it to ya?” Michael replied dryly. He wasn’t here to make friends.

“Alright smartass,” the man replied in a husky voice, “just trying to be nice to the kid alone in a bar.” 

Michael shrugged and took a sip of his water and immediately coughed most of it up. Yep, definitely not water.

“First time drinking a vodka and tonic?” The bartender asks, trying to mask his laughs. He leans down, resting his arms against the bar and shooting another one of his lazy smiles at Michael. There’s a moment of awkward silence between them that was thankfully broken by some drunk trying to wave down the only bartender behind the counter. “Try sticking around for a bit, alright? Gotta go do my job.” 

“Sure.” he looks at the glass, confused, and takes another sip, which went down a lot easier than the first. 

“My name’s Geoff by the way, to make this whole conversation fair.” Michael nods as Geoff pushes off from the counter, going to his other customers. His eyes follow him across the bar, to the glasses, then the taps, then back to his customers. Only when Geoff makes eye contact with him, does he look back down at his drink.

Michael sits in silence, observing the glass, asking himself why the fuck he thought it was a good idea to come here. All he wanted was a drink and now some asshole decided to talk to the disgusting kid with trashy clothes and overgrown hair- which was due for another haircut.

He wondered if the guy did this to every delinquent that walked in asking for a drink. Maybe he thought it was his ‘duty’ as a ‘good samaritan’ or some useless, unneeded shit like that. 

They all thought like this. The ones who walked by handing out pity like it was a basket of free puppies in a daycare. Except...Michael didn’t need any of it. Not the scraps of food that were left over from a lunch too big for their giant stomachs, or the thin blankets that never seemed to stay together after a week of wear and tear. The only ‘help’ he needed were the tourists whose pockets found the wrong side of town. 

He felt like someone was watching him and tonight was  _ not _ the greatest night to pick a fight so he kept his head down and his hands to himself for once. No need to stir up something in the middle of the bar where you’re drinking as a minor.

Just as Michael took the last swig of his drink, the guy, Geoff, showed up again.

“Need another one?” he asked, taking the glass of slowly melting ice.

“Uh….I don’t think…..” Michael started fidgeting in his seat. He knew he didn’t have enough cash for another one and started to wonder if he could trade one of his good knives for it when Geoff interrupted him.

“It’s on the house,” Michael looked up at him, surprised, “only if you sit here and talk to me for a while. Gets kind of lonely being the only guy putting in work in this place.” he smiled, feeling satisfied with his deal.

Michael was confused; why did Geoff want to talk to him so bad? Why wasn’t he scared of Michael like all the other people he knew? 

Instead of thinking too much, he just nodded, accepting Geoff’s deal only for another drink. He walked off to refill Michael’s glass and handed it back over.

“Alright, so am I gonna get to know your name or am I just gonna keep calling you dude, dude?” Geoff pulled up a stool and sat in front of him but stayed behind the bar.

“It’s Michael…..” he answered, thumbing the rim of the glass. Geoff smiled down at the wood and looked up at Michael. “What?” he says through gritted teeth.

“It fits you.” Geoff said.

“Yeah that’s because it’s my name, dumbass.” he gripped his drink and rolled his eyes. The gent leaned over and grabbed a square-like bottle that had  _ Jack Daniel’s _ written across it and tipped it towards Michael.

“Well Michael, here’s to new friendships.” he said with the dumbest grin under his stupid moustache.

“Yeah. Sure.” Michael tipped his glass towards the other and clinked it against the bottle. He didn’t understand why he had done that or why he was allowing himself to talk to this guy, but he’d freak out over it later. Geoff took a pretty decent gulp from the bottle and Michael followed suit by throwing back half of his. He began to feel a little light headed but ignored it.

“So what’s your story?” the question tears him away from the pounding forming in his temples. 

Michael pauses, only to think.

“Lived in Texas, joined a gang, shit hit the fan and I had to fake my death and move here with a new identity.” Yeah, of course he wasn’t going to tell a guy who he just met in a bar everything about him.

There was silence between the two as if they were both trying to register what the hell the other was thinking. Michael noticed that Geoff’s lazy expression had switched to a dumbfounded one, which quickly changed with realization.

“Alright smartass, just start with where you’re from.” Geoff finally replied.

“Around.”

“Baaahhhh.” Geoff shoved his face in his hands and rubbed it, exasperated. “Wow, ok. Never left the big N.J. before?” Michael couldn’t help but crack out a throaty laugh over Geoff’s stupid remark, making Geoff smile once again.

“Nope.” he replied.

\- - - -

They talked like this for a while longer, Geoff trying to get to know Michael but only getting sarcastic, one-word responses. Before Michael realized it, they were the only two left in the bar and Michael was feeling pretty heavy. Geoff had offered way too many drinks on the house to get Michael to talk.

“Shit. What time is’t?” Stumbling around a somewhat coherent sentence, Michael grabbed for his bag but his hand-eye coordination was shit and he knocked it off the stool. “Fuck.” Michael mumbled. He looked up at Geoff, eyes half lidded, and stared dumbfoundedly. 

“Alright. I think that’s enough for tonight. I’ll give you some cash and call you a cab home.” Geoff offered, as he walked around the bar and grabbed Michael’s bag, placing it in his lap. Michael grabbed for his drink again and Geoff, who seemed a lot less affected by the same amount of drinks, got to it before him. “Woah woah woah. Take it easy, Jersey.”

_ Jersey. Has a nice ring to it. _

“Haha…..home. S’ vague.” Michael replied, pulling his bag closer to him, a comfort that he’d gotten so used to in the cold nights.

Geoff was walking towards the landline to call for a cab when he asked, “What do you mean ‘vague’?”

“I mean…..what is a house to some p’ple?” Michael slurred, “A warm bed? Or a holy roof and a mininimum of two walls to stay warm?” Michael didn’t know why he was saying this or why he could barely pronounce words correctly, but his brain was not reaching his mouth in time to stop it- and thinking was not his best ability at the moment.

“Well, someone’s chatty now.”

The sound of the phone ringing in Geoff’s ear could be heard and Michael realized why this was not a good situation for him. He didn’t have a home to be taken to, so of course he didn’t need a cab. Geoff was just gonna waste his money on him.

“Hey man, I’m gettin’ outta here so don’t waste ya time.” Michael slowly stood and began to stumble out the door, trying to grab for anything to steady him. 

The cold chill of the New Jersey night made him shudder as he tried not to trip on his own feet. His head was fuzzy and his legs would not do what they were supposed to do. How was he supposed to find anything like this? In his jumbled thoughts, he wished he didn’t come across any dumbasses who wanted to pick a fight.

Something didn’t feel right suddenly. His stomach lurched and he staggered into the alley beside the bar.

Just as he gripped onto a trash can, a feeling came boiling from inside him and what little food he had that day was filling the metal bin.

His head imploded, he became numb, the earth turned vertical, and the night was lost to him.

\- - - -

Michael opened his eyes gingerly and was welcomed to nothing. He sat up quickly and reached around for his bag but was met with nothing again. Panic took over. He hated not knowing where he was; it happened every night he changed homes. The new surroundings mixed with the sleep induced blindness did not go well for his anxiety. 

So he sat still and focused, letting his eyes become accustomed to the dark to calm himself. Only, what he saw did everything but calm him. 

He was in a room with no windows, no doors, and no furniture. The floor was hard and wet and the walls were blood red. Michael’s body began to tremble and he tried to stand, his legs doing their best not to give out under him. He walked towards the walls and toppled into them, catching himself before he slammed his face into concrete. 

He shuddered out a breath and rubbed his face with his hands, which were….wet? He looked down at them and saw red, thick red, blood red. Michael’s eyes widened and he looked around the floor.

The room was flooded with red liquid. Blood.

_ No, no this can’t be real!  _ He thought, trying to get a grip on reality while his mind raced endlessly for some sort of answer. He looked around for some way out, some shrapnel of hope that this was  _ not _ real. 

The more he thought, the more he realized he was alone and there was no hope for an exit. The room began to grow smaller- not because the walls were closing in on him, but because the amount of blood began to increase- and Michael lost it. 

_ I don’t know what’s happening. This is not okay.  _

_ I am not okay. _

“I don’t know who the  _ fuck _ you are or what you want from me, but this is  _ fucking messed up, you piece of shit!”  _ Michael screamed at nothing. No one was listening, he was alone. Deep inside himself, he knew that he had  _ always _ been alone.

The blood was flowing quickly and reached his neck now. He had nothing to climb onto and no one to save him and he hated it. He hated the feelings that began to flood inside of him and the tears drowning his eyes.

The blood consumed him.

_ I don’t want to be alone anymore. _

Michael opened his eyes and could somehow see someone standing above the surface, looking down at him. He slowly reached for them.

_ Help me. _

He closed his eyes and let everything take him away. No one was going to help him, he was worthless and he knew it. A lost cause that the world gave up on years ago, he should have been in that car with his mom long ago.

Then Michael felt a soft touch smooth through his hair.

“I’ve got you, Jersey.”

\- - - -

Michael woke up in an apartment, confused and hungover. He started to panic, which made his head feel like a band of drummers were making a sick beat behind his eyes.

The room was bright, even though the only light came from a crack in the curtains covering the windows. Windows.

Michael sits up and presses his fingers against his temples, rubbing small circles against them.  _ Where the fuck…? _ He couldn’t remember where he was or how he got here. 

He looks over at the table beside him and finds a glass of water and a few pills sitting on a piece of paper. He slowly reaches for the paper and the water because god his mouth is fucking dry. He takes a sip and reads:

Jersey,

Take these. Drink all of this. Stay still.

-Geoff

And suddenly the night rushes back into his memories. 

He remembers puking his guts out in some bathroom, hands pressing against him reassuringly, soft voices, sweating, tearing his clothes off, puking more.

He suddenly feels very cold and curses to himself. He listens to the note and chugs the water but leaves the pills- he wasn’t stupid enough to take pills from some guy he met in a bar the night before. 

Setting the glass on the table, Michael notices his things at the end of the couch, including his shirt and hoodie, folded, and set neatly on the arm. He reached over, his head feeling like a block of lead, and slowly threw them on, trying not to stir up any unwanted nausea.

They smelled fresh. The bastard must have washed them while he was sleeping. Michael dreaded the embarrassing thought of  _ why _ he must have cleaned them, so instead he gets up to see what time it was. 

_ Gravity, meet Michael. Michael, meet fucking gravity, you idiot.  _ His face met the ground and wow, did that fucking hurt worse than getting into a knife fight. 

The world shook around him and he had to shut his eyes in order not to puke all over Geoff’s carpet. 

Somewhere behind him, he heard footsteps traversing stairs and a small gasp.

“Shit Jersey, why do you think I told you to sit still?” Geoff rushed over to Michael and wrapped his arms around his shoulders to help him up.

_ I don’t…. _ ”I don’t need your help.” Michael says, trying to sound serious but his voice betrayed him. It sounded like he had gargled nails the night before and had sandpaper for dessert.

“Well judging by the way you’re leaning against me, you have no energy to do this alone.” Geoff said seriously. 

Michael pushed off of him and slumped back onto the couch. His brain felt like a bouncy ball stuck in his skull and he lost his breath. His eyes snapped shut, a habitual movement at this point. and when he opened them again, Geoff was gone. He looked around and heard sounds coming from what seemed to be the kitchen.

“You need food. How do saltines sound?”

Michael’s stomach flipped at the thought of food. He felt sick again and started to crawl towards the trash can in the kitchen. The bile began to rise in his throat and his eyes watered.

“Oh shit!” There was a blur of movement in front of him and then he was puking in a trash can. “You’re still puking? Did you not take the pills?” Geoff’s voice sounded mangled over the heartbeat that was literally inside of Michael’s head.

He looked up as Geoff set the trash down and headed over to the coffee table.

“Guuhh.” was all Michael could respond with, his voice small and weak. Geoff was in front of him again, offering the orange pills.

“Take them. They’ll get rid of your nausea, I swear.” He placed them in Michael’s hands. “Then you can eat something and actually keep it down.” He gave a reassuring smile but his eyes, they told a different story. He had that look of pity that everyone gave Michael as they walked by.

He just stared at Geoff.

“What?” Geoff stared back at him. “You think I’m trying to drug you? I’m trying to help you feel better, dummy.” Michael rolled his eyes. “And I really don’t want you puking on my carpet again.” 

Michael’s heart jumped in his chest. Had he…? Fuck. He guessed if it would stop him from possibly embarrassing himself any further than he already had, he would take the fucking pills. Even if they were illegal drugs and Geoff was going to murder him in his sleep, it was the better choice. He looked around for a glass of water when Geoff handed him a new one. 

Michael’s brain was pounding so hard he could care less where he pulled that water from. He threw the pills in and chugged till the glass was empty. Geoff took it from his hands and put it off to the side.

The pain behind his eyes and in his temples pulsated so he put his head in his hands and tried to rub the pain away.

He felt Geoff’s presence leave for just a moment and heard shuffling behind him. His head started feeling a little lighter, along with his body, like he was being lifted into the air. Oh wait, he was. 

“You’re light as dicks, Jersey. Don’t you eat?” Geoff was carrying him. Holy shit, this is against all of Michael’s rules.

_ No _ … “Don’t.” he muttered, making weak gestures to try to get out of his arms.

“I’m just taking you back to the couch. You can’t even stand on your own, this is easier.”

Yeah. Easier. That’s all that mattered to Michael now. 

Geoff laid Michael on the couch and it was like he was on cloud nine. He had never felt more comfortable than he did right now, in this strangers house, high on drugs.

“Rest a little, Jersey. You’ll feel a lot better when you wake up, I promise.” Geoff’s voice was distant now.

Come to think of it, Michael did feel pretty tired. He closed his eyes and focused on his heartbeat. His thoughts faded and he fell into a deep sleep.

“I never break a promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so here's things I want you to know base don this chapter:  
> 1\. I did a lot of research for the dream Michael has. I literally have a book about nightmares and what they mean. So with blood, it signifies "some sort of emotional wound or mental scar you are carrying in your waking life." And for Michael, that scar of course is his abandonment issues and feeling alone for years. (Also, the book is called The Nightmare Dictionary by Adams Media if you guys were interested.)  
> 2\. The medicine that Geoff gives Michael is called Phenergan and it's an an anti-nausea medicine that causes drowsiness. Geoff did not drug Michael!  
> That is all! I'm not going to give a date for when Chapter 3 will be out because I really don't know when, especially now that I'm starting my first job.  
> Anyways, thanks for reading, lovelies. Can't wait to hear your feedback!


End file.
